


An Unconventional Girl

by Rumaan



Series: The Marriage Mart [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Drabble Collection, Drama, F/M, Romance, regency au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/pseuds/Rumaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An escape from a tedious afternoon of instruction from her governess, Miss Mordane, gives Arya Stark an opportunity to save a handsome stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another pairing added to my regency AU world. This thing just keeps on growing. Again, these are connected drabbles, so there are time jumps and things missing or that may occur in other stories in the series.
> 
> These are also not beta'd so please excuse the mistakes and typos. 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://rumaan.tumblr.com/) where these generally tend to be posted first.

Arya whooped with joy as she galloped through the woods, finally free from the stifling week she had endured under her governess, Miss Mordane. To make matters even better, she had managed to lose Harwin, the groom assigned to her when she rode out of Winterfell, too.

She sat astride the horse in the old riding breeches she had pilfered from the trunk of Robb’s old things in the attics. If her mother or Sansa were to see her now, they would have a fit, and the thought made Arya grin even more. There was something about the forbidden that she could just not resist.

The sound of clashing metal had Arya pulling up, her head tilted to the side to better hear where the sound was coming from. With a quick tug on the reins, Arya coaxed her horse through a copse to the right and stumbled upon a slim young man being set upon by ruffians.

Without thinking, Arya leapt from her horse, her hand going to the sword that hung from her side. Her mother knew nothing about Needle, but Father had gifted it to her when he realised it would be impossible to stop her from riding out into the Wolfswood. Bandits were common in the swath of ancient forest that ran to the west of Winterfell.

Engaging the nearest thug to her, Arya put Syrio Forel’s lessons to good use, her fast and fluid style giving her an advantage over the heavy set man she fought against. As he stumbled in her wake, Arya pounced, disarming him, her sword at his neck.

“If you don’t leave right now, I will run him through,” Arya said to his two colleagues, who had stopped at their friend’s shouted exclamation.

“Fine thing it’d be if we ran from a little strumpet like you,” a man said, spitting out the side of his mouth.

Arya suppressed the tremor in her arm at his call of her bluff, and drew a scratch down the side of the man’s throat. “You want to test me?”

“Jem!” her victim called out in a strangled tone. “The jade’s blade is sharp.”

There was the sound of a gun cocking, and Arya nodded in approval as the young man had not wasted her distraction and was now levelling a pistol at Jem.

“Jem, it ain’t worth it. Not if the nib-cove’s got a pop it ain’t!” the third man piped up.

Jem scowled his eyes flicking between Arya and the youth with the pistols before he swore. “Alright, you doxy, put up your sword. Young ‘un, you can put that pistol away, too, and we’ll lope off.”

“Not before you disappear,” the youth said.

Jem nodded, grabbed his friend pulling him backwards and out of the way of Arya’s blade and whistled for the third man to follow. They disappeared with great alacrity into the trees.

Both Arya and the young man stood still for several moments, making sure the ruffians had truly disappeared.

Arya then turned towards the youth she had helped. He was slim with eyes such a dark blue they almost looked lavender. Tousled pale blond hair sat atop his head. He could not be more than one or two years older than her and she wondered what he was doing so far from home. His accent clearly marked him as being from abroad.

He bowed with a fluid grace that Arya found herself envying. “My thanks for your most timely assistance, my lady,” he said.

“It’s not safe in these woods. You should not be travelling by yourself.” Arya said, her words coming out more harshly than she intended.

He nodded and Arya noticed the flush on his cheeks. “I best be on my way,” he said but he continued to stand there, fidgeting a little.

“Is there something the matter? Are you lost?” Arya asked.

“No, I am staying at the Blue Bells,” he said naming one of the posting inns that sat on the Great North Road a few miles away.

“Well, nice meeting you. It was fun,” Arya said with a giggle, realising she meant it. It had been months since she had practiced her swordplay, not since her mother insisted her sword lessons with Syrio Forel ceased because it was not fitting for a lady to be running around the countryside in breeches. She couldn’t even tease Robb into sparring with her since he had gone to London to keep an eye on Sansa and Bran remained bedridden since his accident. _But the less I think on that the better,_ she thought as she moved back towards Nymeria.

“Wait!” the young man called out, causing her to turn with her hand on the bridle of her horse. “What is your name?”

Arya bit her lip. It was a perfectly reasonable request but if news of this exploit got around the neighbourhood her mother would be displeased, but she was unable to deny his request without sounding churlish. “Arya,” she said. “Arya Stark.”

“Of Winterfell?”

“Aye,” she said with a small nod. “And you are?”

The young man gave her a charming smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall.”

Arya frowned. His name sounded familiar and she wrinkled her nose as she tried to think where she had heard it before. “Dayne! My uncle Brandon-,” she started to say before clapping a hand over her mouth in horror.

“Had an _affaire_ with my aunt Ashara,” Lord Edric said.

Arya felt the heat rising in her cheeks. There had been a horrendous scandal during her Uncle Brandon’s Grand Tour, when he had impregnated a local beauty in one of the countries he had visited. It was not talked about in the family, Arya only finding out during one of her afternoons playing in the attics when she had unearthed a pile of her grandmother Lyarra’s journals. She had read all the details in there, but had never mentioned knowing to her father.

“I am sorry. It was terribly ill-bred of me to mention it,” Arya said.

“It was a long time ago and before I was born,” Lord Edric said with an easy smile that set Arya’s nerves at ease.

“Can I give you a hand back onto your horse, my lady?”

“Oh, it is no trouble. I will just lead him until I find a log I can use,” Arya said, used to having to do such things if she dismounted.

“It is no more than I can do for the lady who so valiantly rescued me,” he said with a teasing note in his voice.

Grasping her around the waist, he picked her up with a strength that belied his slender build and placed her on top of Nymeria. He then helped her settle her feet into her stirrups before gallantly kissing her on her hand. “Many thanks once more your help, Lady Arya.”

Her heart pounded as she rode away, the warmth of his hands imprinted on her waist, and feeling more like a lady than ever before in her life.

“Stop it, you idiot! You sound like Sansa,” she groused to herself before kicking Nymeria into a gallop down the ride that lead back to Winterfell. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these updates are really sporadic - but these are my "write when inspiration strikes" ficlets. Reference is made to other storylines.

Arya sat, her chin in her hands, as she peered through the bannisters at all the fine members of the _Haute Ton_ who were pouring through the doors of the little used Stark Townhouse.

She wished she had been allowed to remain behind at Winterfell as Bran and Rickon had, but her mother had insisted she come to Town with them. It would be Arya’s turn to debut in just two years and although she scowled at the prospect, she knew that there would be no getting out of it. It was her _duty_ to marry well. The mere thought of it had her pulling an ugly face.

“I had hoped to see you downstairs,” came a slightly accented voice that she had last heard a few months.

Arya scrambled to her feet and turned to face the young man she not thought to see again.

He was as handsome as she remembered, his eyes and hair startling against his golden tanned skin. For once, she felt self-conscious of the creases in her muslin gown and she tried to subtly shake them out, only managing to tangle the skirts around her ankles. She frowned with annoyance and wished she was wearing breeches.

She looked over at him, irritated when she saw the amused grin on his face.

“What are _you_ doing up here?” she asked, her tone more hostile than she intended.

“I saw you peeking down earlier and when you didn’t make an appearance in the ballroom, I came to see if you were still here.”

Arya’s eyebrows rose at his bold behaviour. Guests did not roam freely through their host’s homes. “If my father or brother finds you, you might find yourself with some explaining to do.”

“We better keep it a secret then,” Edric said, with a cheeky wink that had her laughing before she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

Grabbing his hand, she pulled him into the small drawing room that had been given over to her and Sansa’s use. Arya was meant to be entertaining herself and the butler had brought her a tray of refreshments from downstairs earlier.

“Come in,” Arya said, “we’re less likely to be disturbed in here.”

“So, why are you sequestered up here rather than celebrating your brother’s betrothal downstairs?”

Arya scowled. “I’m not out yet, so I’m not allowed. Not that I _want_ to be stuffed in some stupid ballgown and made to simper at a load of stupid lords.”

“I guess you can’t take your sword into the ballroom.”

“No,” Arya said morosely. “I had to leave Needle behind in Winterfell, too.”

“Needle?”

Arya picked up the embroidery that her mother had left on one of the side tables, probably in the hope that Arya would become so bored that she would actually ply a more ladylike needle, and waved it in Edric’s face. “This is the needle my sister wields and you’ve seen what Needle I wield.”

Edric laughed. “Your sword is called Needle?”

“Yes, not that it matters,” Arya said with a pout. “My mother won’t let me train any more. She says I need to learn more ladylike accomplishments so I will be a success when I debut. Not that I will be. I’m not beautiful like my sister, Sansa.”

“Your sister is the red-haired lady who spends so much time with Princess Rhaenys?”

“Yes.”                                              

“She is very beautiful,” Lord Edric said.

Arya looked down to hide the disappointment from her face. She had hoped that Lord Edric would be different. He was the first proper lord that she had been able to talk to without feeling awkward and self-conscious. He had admired her swordplay, been impressed with her, and had actually sought her out this evening. But it appeared that he was the same as everyone else, someone who thought that a lady need only be beautiful and nothing else.

“But you are beautiful, too, Arya.”

His words had her head snapping back up and she stared him in the eye, looking for any sign that he was mocking her, but there was nothing but admiration in his face. Colour flooded her cheeks and she smiled a little shyly at him.

Arya smiled tremulously at him. No one other than her father had ever called her pretty before, not even her brothers. Then there was the fact that her lack of conformity was a severe trial to her mother. It was not like Arya did not try, she did, but she had no interest in learning the pianoforte, or how to paint in watercolours. Miss Mordane said she had hands like a blacksmith, but it was not Arya’s fault that she had no skill.

“You know, in my country, you would be admired for your fire and spirit. There are ladies like the Princess Rhaenys’ mother, who confirm to the standards here in England, but there are also ladies, like the Princess Rhaenys’ natural cousins, who train to fight and they are respected just as much as ladies who wish to ply a more conventional needle.”

 “I think I would like your country,” she whispered.

Lord Edric’s hand crept across the material that separated them on the sofa before it rested atop hers, lightly so she could pull hers out if she did not want the contact, and his deep blue eyes stared into hers. “I think you would, too.”

She remained mesmerized in his gaze, until her father calling her name from below had her jumping up.

“Quick, Lord Edric, we need to get you back to the ballroom!” she said urgently, hustling him out of the room and away from the main flight of stairs to the secondary set that he must have used to find her.

As she was shoving him down them, he grasped her arm, stopping her, and asked, “When can I see you again?”

“I go riding in the park early every morning before breakfast, sometimes with my brother but usually with my groom.”

“Then I will find a reason to go riding every morning, too,” he said with a roguish smile. “And it’s Ned.”

Arya’s heart rate had not settled by the time her father walked into the small drawing room, her flushed cheeks remained also.

“Are you well, Arya?” her father asked, eyeing her in some concern.

“What?” she asked distractedly, before gathering her wits together. “Yes, oh yes, Father. I just ate too many cakes and now feel a little unwell.”

“Hmm,” Ned said, glancing with a raised eyebrow at the untouched tray of food. “Come on, let’s get you into bed then. I’m sure Old Nan has sent a tonic with Miss Mordane that can mend your stomach.”

Arya stuck her tongue out in disgust as she was led from the room and up towards her governess’ room.


End file.
